Page 24 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“Thanks for not making this weird. My crush on Robbie.”
“What are best friends for if not to discuss attraction to siblings? Besides, if you had a hot brother, I’d hope you’d do the same for me.”
She laughs again, and this time it’s full and genuine. “Only in our lives would this be a normal conversation.”
The back door slides open, and Robbie’s head pops out. “You guys want some lemonade? Dad made a fresh pitcher.”
I watch Rita’s entire face transform at the sight of him. It becomes soft and bright all at once. Yeah, she’s completely gone for my ridiculous brother.
“That sounds perfect,” she calls back, and I don’t miss how Robbie’s grin widens at her response.
He disappears back inside, and Rita turns to me. “See? How am I supposed to resist that? He’s bringing us lemonade during a heat wave. That’s practically a marriage proposal.”
“You’re hopeless,” I tell her.
“Says the guy mooning over Jameson Hart and his secret book collection.”
“Touché.”
The heat continues to wrap around us, but it’s less oppressive now. Maybe it’s the company, or maybe it’s the relief of talking about these things out loud instead of letting them rattle around in our heads.
“One-oh-eight!” the radio announces several minutes later. “Folks, we’re in uncharted territory now.”
Rita raises her melted popsicle bag in a toast. “To uncharted territory.”
“To uncharted territory.”
Robbie comes back out with a tray of lemonade, his hair sticking up in twelve different directions, and his smile aimed directly at Rita.
He sets the tray down near the pool’s edge and stretches out on the chaise lounge, clearly enjoying the shade from the umbrella.
He’s wearing those khaki shorts that make me wonder if he was a model in a past life.
“You’re not coming in?” Rita asks, paddling closer to the pool’s edge. Water droplets cling to her shoulders, and her red hair has turned a shade of brown now that it’s wet. She grabs one of the glasses of lemonade and gulps half of it down.
“Nah, I’m good here,” Robbie says, wiggling his toes and letting out a satisfied sigh.
“The water’s perfect,” she insists. “And you’re melting.”
She’s right—sweat has beaded on his forehead, and his shirt is already clinging to his chest. But all Robbie does is grin and take a long sip of lemonade.
“Come on,” Rita says, and there’s something different in her voice now, something playful and challenging. “Don’t make me come get you.”
Robbie narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Rita smirks and glances at me from over her shoulder. “Kevin, help me out here.”
“I’m staying out of whatever this is,” I say, holding up my hands.
Sighing disappointedly, Rita hoists herself out of the pool in one smooth motion.
Water streams off her vintage swimsuit. Robbie’s Adam’s apple bobs as he watches her approach.
I snicker when I realize the radio is playing “Moving in Stereo,” because this is exactly like that scene from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.
“Last chance,” she says, now standing over him with her hands on her hips.
“Rita—” he croaks. But she doesn’t let him finish what he wants to say. She grabs his ankle and tugs. Robbie laughs and tries to twist away, but she has a firm grip. And I would know; my hands were pretty sore after we tangoed together during “Be Our Guest.”
After a few minutes of hard work, Rita successfully gets Robbie off the chaise. I’m pretty sure he let her, but I’ll never tell. She’s now dragging him along the ground, and my brother’s face is comical. He’s on his belly, wide-eyed with his mouth agape, his long fingers clawing at the grass.
“No!” he shouts. “These are my good shorts!”
“Should’ve thought of that before you refused my invitation, Robbie Pryor,” she says, tugging harder.
They’re both laughing loudly. I realize with a sort of sadness that this is the kind of flirting that I want with someone. Where whatever it is we’re doing might be considered silly and childish, but it’s something we’ll remember when we’re old and gray.
“Fine, fine!” Robbie surrenders, and she lets go of his ankle. “But I’m doing this on my terms.”
He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the chaise.
I don’t miss Rita’s tiny intake of breath as her eyes travel down my brother’s torso.
Robbie’s not ripped, but there’s a hint of a six-pack there.
And those shoulders that she mentioned? Yeah, I get how she could be smitten with him too.
As much as it pains me to say it, years of football have carved my brother into a handsome man.
Robbie backs up several steps, then takes a running leap into the pool, tucking his knees to his chest at the last second. The resulting cannonball sends a tsunami of water over me and Rita.
“Robbie!” we shriek in unison, but we’re laughing too.
He surfaces with a whoop and shakes his head like a dog. His khaki shorts balloon around him, making him look ridiculous. That’s the Robbie I know and love.
“Worth it,” he declares, swimming over to where Rita treads water.
“You’re impossible,” she says, beaming.
The way they stare at each other makes me think I should give them some privacy. But we’re in a pool. The only thing I can do is go underwater, and I can’t hold my breath for that long.
I paddle my deflating donut to the far side of the pool, giving them as much space as possible while pretending to examine the pool filter. Behind me, I hear splashing and Rita’s delighted squeals as Robbie apparently tries to dunk her.
“No fair!” she protests, spluttering. “You’re twice my size!”
“All’s fair in love and pool warfare,” Robbie says, and even though I’m not watching, I can hear the grin in his voice.
My mind drifts, painting a different scene entirely.
In my imagination, it’s Jameson in the pool with me.
He’d probably do the same running cannonball, but because he’s bigger than my brother, he’d end up soaking everything in a ten-foot radius.
Maybe he’d surface right next to me, close enough that I could count the water droplets on his eyelashes.
“Sorry,” he’d say, but he wouldn’t appear sorry at all. He’d wear a wolfish smile and approach me in an alligator-like manner.
“You did that on purpose,” I’d accuse, and he’d laugh, low and warm.
“Maybe,” he’d admit. “Wanted to see if I could make you smile.”
In my fantasy, I’m confident enough to splash him back, to get us into a water fight that ends with us winded and grinning.
He’d chase me around the pool, and I’d let him catch me.
His thick arms would wrap around my middle, and maybe we’d share a kiss.
Our hands would roam. My legs would wrap around his waist. I’d be able to feel his heart beating fast; mine would beat faster. I’d never want it to end.
“Kevin!” Rita’s voice snaps me back to reality. “Stop daydreaming and come judge our handstand contest!”
I turn to find Rita and Robbie both holding their breaths as they flip upside down in the water. Their legs wave in the air, their feet bonking into each other’s.
Rita’s form is surprisingly good. Her toes are pointed, and she barely falters. Robbie, on the other hand, reminds me of a drowning giraffe.
“Rita wins,” I declare immediately.
Robbie surfaces, cheeks flushed and seeing red. “Kevin! I’m your brother!”
“Sorry, brother , but Rita has technique. You don’t.”
“Harsh but fair,” Robbie admits after a beat. He turns to Rita, who’s still underwater. “How does she do that?”
Rita pops up, pushing her wet hair back. “Years of synchronized swimming camp. My mom thought it would make me more graceful.”
“Did it work?” Robbie asks, swimming closer to her.
“You tell me,” she says, and there’s not a shadow of a doubt that some invisible thread is pulling them together.
I occupy myself once more by trying to inflate my donut, blowing into the little plastic valve until I’m dizzy. Robbie and Rita have moved on to seeing who can hold their breath the longest. It involves a lot of counting and cheating, and accusations of tickling.
The sun continues to beat down on us. I close my eyes and drift, listening to my brother and best friend fall for each other in real time. It should be weird, but mostly, it makes me happy.
They deserve this—these moments of pure summer joy that they’ll remember forever.
Maybe one day, I will too.